


What draws the Gaze

by Cirrocumulus (orphan_account)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drunk Shenanigans, Earring Appreciation, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fluff and Smut, Jewelry, Mentioned Golden Deer Students (Fire Emblem), Post-Time Skip, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21674152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cirrocumulus
Summary: “They stare at it”, she noted.He laughed. “At what?”“Your earring. They look at it because they cannot bear your intense gaze.”Claude felt the need to scratch the back of his head in mock embarrassment, and it could have fooled her if not for the increasing intensity of his own attention given to her. “Can't they? What about you then, Teach? Am I too much for you?”
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 35
Kudos: 183





	1. Earring

His earring glistened in the pale light, a radiating moon glow that tickled the stars out to play.

One could call its shine a pinprick of his bright persona, and yet it dangled with gold as though attempting to impress prey. Prim and proper was what the onlookers would use to describe whatever fair maiden took upon a mantle of holiness on such a night, but lust simmered like from fire burned sinners underneath hungry gazes.

Byleth was not quite sure why _her_ gaze adopted the features of a hawk, eyes cut to slits, irises like talons that plucked out whatever secrets he kept carved into marrow. But her expression was bone chilling all the same, and nothing would tempt her to dress herself with foreign feathers.

“You look like a night owl, Teach, perched up here", he murmured, a low grumble between the screeching of the masses, and whatever alcohol laced his tongue only made the sound of his voice that much sweeter.

“Claude", she greeted.

She took it upon herself to raise her mead to her lips, wetting her own tongue with the soft bitterness of cheap liquor. Down below, near the pier, the people celebrated with the ripples of the night light reflected by the pond.

“Too crowded", she replied.

“I was more referring to that look of yours.” He was all tease without tell, propped up arms on the old stone beneath them, the sparkle of celestial bodies in his eyes older still. “Relax, live a little. We don't get to celebrate all too often.”

She laughed, a hollow sound only mildly capable of being heard through the chatter from the dining hall, where food was prepared to form a feast even a king could be content with. Only the way the smell of roasted meat hit her nose offset the faint fragrance of pine needles that radiated off her companion.

“Well, the mead isn’t half bad”, she replied.

“Is it?” His eyes crinkled in amusement, tugging whatever firmament was visible there over her like a blanket. “Let's hope it'll make you loosen up, eh?”

He seemed to rival the calm of a forest, stood proud and tall like a tree, wineglass in hand and smile on his lips. One arm neatly snaked around her shoulders akin to branches, until his beard could almost brush against her with the intent of leaves hugging foxes in the underbrush.

Hiding schemes.

Yet he withheld his toothy grin from her, but she saw it creep up the moment one of the countless young women approached him with the accessories of a warm welcome on display, necklaces hugging collarbones and cleavages. Some, she determined, must be former students, girls matured into maidens, and this was definitely one of them.

“You left quite suddenly", the woman said, ruffling her skirt. “But given Raphael's belching contest, I cannot quite fault you for it.”

The giggle that rose from her lips was much more light-hearted than whatever Byleth could produce herself, so she yet stared at the two with the narrow view of an avian, fingers gripping the stone underneath as the young thing angled herself against the stone to accentuate her figure, and what bitterness was swallowed with the alcohol managed to crawl back up her throat.

Claude drew away as fast as he had approached.

“Well, let's just say the fun in there ended the moment Lorenz became drunk enough to need an escort, and my hands”, he gestured to his wineglass, raised it to emphasise his point, “were preoccupied.”

“And about your time?” Her voice was sticky, like honey, laced with whatever sweetness nature could provide. Byleth cocked her head to the side, firm where the woman's own gaze was coquettish. She reached out in the way touch starved people used to convey attraction, dainty fingers rising to the lobe of his ear, until they pawed at his earring. “Is _it_ preoccupied?”

He seemed shocked for but a second, mask falling for a fraction of it, and his free hand made to rise to his earlobe, but then he thought better of it and let it fall. “Well, I was checking up on good ol’ Teach over here.”

“Ah”, she did a curtsy, and Byleth raised an eyebrow in what should have looked like protest, but only made the woman that much more curious in the way she moved. As though Byleth was stuck up, and frozen in place, and maybe she was, but what did it matter. “Professor! We have not spoken in quite some time. How do you like the evening?”

She raised the mug that contained her liquid mistake. “Fine.”

Then added the slightest hint of a smile, the taste of it like bile on her tongue. “You know each other?”

Claude, she noted, drew nearer with an intoxicated breath, away from her and closer towards the unnamed former student of which her memory would not grace her with whatever significance she held. But the war had been long, and Byleth had existed in nothing _but_ memories for five years. Who was she to deny him to make new ones?

His fingers touched the necklace of his companion, the movement graceful, a dance of a hand which must have known how to pickpocket but belonged to a body which had grown up to not see such as the first option of many. So, he simply wondered aloud while staring at it. “Same history class, if I recall. Hanneman taught it.”

“We sat next to each other! You can not believe my excitement when I heard you became Duke! What an honour to know a man of such high status.” She continued to play with the lobe of his ear, pretty lips near enough to whisper. “What would it take to get to know you better?”

Byleth drank. Gulped her whole drink down with the centralised fortitude of a mercenary, and the slight burp that followed at least had the decency to drive the attention of the woman away from him for a moment and back to her. She did not excuse the interruption, simply excused herself, taking Claude’s wine glass with her.

“Teach?” His gloved hand made to grab her overcoat but missed by an inch. What dusted his cheeks red must have been half intoxication, half poison of a different kind.

“I’ll get rid of this for you”, Byleth replied, pushing her lips against the glass and emptying the red liquid in earnest. “Enjoy your evening.”

Even as she moved away, her gaze was stuck towards that glistening gold near his ear, still cupped by manicured nails. She bit her own while entering the dining hall and welcomed the whiff of cooked food over the perfume of pine trees and pining women. Byleth put down the glass and mug onto the nearest table, rested the back of her body against the wood, and stared across the crowd, looking for familiar faces.

The night had done some of them in, left Sylvain laying atop a table half awake but fully drunk, while Felix simply rolled his eyes and justified a heated debate with the sharp end of a chicken bone, raising it high up and near the subject of his rant in anger, as though it were a weapon.

She shook her head and looked towards the eating contest that was visibly still ongoing, though the only participant left had to be Raphael. Ignatz, right next to him, held his stomach in pain, while Lysithea shovelled large amounts of frilly cakes into her mouth.

The big fellow beckoned her over with a wave, and a loud “Professor! Come here!” on his lips.

She shook her head but moved over reluctantly. When he offered greasy wings of whatever the hell the Monastery had slain during their last expedition, she denied with a soft “I’d rather not.”

Still, she sat down, next to her painterly friend who at least tried to put on a friendly smile, however pained it looked. “He’s been at it for _hours_ …”

“Mhm”, Lysithea quipped, mouth desperately choking down creamed goodness, “but we won all the dessert, so I cannot complain.”

Ignatz sighed. “I can…”

Byleth simply continued to watch their biggest companion chow down whatever laid in his wake. “Grab some tea leaves against stomach pain tomorrow, if you don’t feel better. My personal stack.”

“…you are too kind, Professor.” Ignatz winced as Raphael hit him on the shoulder good naturedly.

Raphael turned to her after, pieces of chicken and other types of meat still in his mouth as he answered. “Hey Byleth, Claude was looking for ya. Did you see ‘im?”

Ah. There was the question she dreaded when setting foot into the dining hall, yet eluding it would be pointless, so she voiced her reply. “Yeah. He was busy, however.”

“Busy?” Lysithea snorted, unladylike and in a way she would not dare to be caught in, if it wasn’t for the one glass of wine that she must have consumed, hinted at by the gloss on her near empty glass, shaped like lips. “He was nagging us all night, so Leonie, Hilda and Marianne went out to search for you.”

“Ah.” Byleth busied herself with a tray of fruit, half picked clean. Put a grape into her mouth and chewed just to gain a couple more seconds to think things over. “He shouldn’t worry, we can discuss war strategies tomorrow. He seems drunk, anyhow.”

“Told you guys he wouldn’t have enough courage to ask her sober”, came a rough voice to her left.

She looked over and saw Leonie approach the small group, a tinge of pink staining her face, but only mildly so. “Good to finally see you, we all thought you’d stay hidden in your room all night.”

Byleth sighed in reply, eyes judgemental, a clear contrast to her words. “Whatever it is, he doesn’t have to be afraid of my judgement.”

Her friend shrugged in reply, grabbed some of the meat on Raphael’s way too large plate, and began munching herself. “Oh, he damn well has to be.”

She stopped for a second, ate the drumstick at a record pace while Ignatz was whining in pain beside her. “Hilda bet ten gold that he’ll be too much of a pantsy, I said nah, he’ll definitely do it. I’ll have to let her and Marianne know how it went, I think. Those two are busy talking about girly things down at the dock.”

Byleth needed more information, or perhaps not, at all. It was easy enough to imagine him laughing along with that former student of hers some more, chatting the night away with the way he could form words to his advantage. She wanted to blurt out the next best thing on her mind, that whatever relationship he decided to build for himself would not matter as long as it did not endanger his ability to lead them in this war, but she kept silent instead.

“If I see Marianne and Hilda, I’ll let them know where you are.” With that, she stood. “Have fun, and make sure to check on Lorenz later.”

The group wished her a good evening in varying tones of enthusiasm, ranging from desperation to desperately trying to ration food. Whatever the case, they yet seemed much more alive than Sylvain, and much happier than Felix. But then, that was an easy feat to achieve.

Grabbing a fresh mug full of beer on her way out was easy, and aside from a couple comments by the halfway sober partygoers, Byleth was on her way to get her solitude back. The air outside was cold, but then she had grown used to the chill in the night, and all she needed to battle fatigue was a cup of tea, which she would indulge in later.

She yet saw Claude in the crowd, caught her gaze on the gold in his armour and the way his hair got tousled from the wind. There was warmth creeping up all the way to his ears, and the wineglass that she had stolen had eagerly been replaced with something else. He suited the half-broken harmony of the monastery, with his half earnest smile and scattered grins. She did not think he was made for the woman at his side however, huddling near for warmth, but who was she to deny him the fire of a body which she had no use for, or at least told herself as much.

The cold nipping at her skin was as much of a lover as she needed, and so she welcomed the freezing hug, and pressed onwards. The rumbling down below, a fast pool of clouds in her stomach that dared to bring storms into her head were signs she could ignore. Perhaps the stress of former battles _clouded_ her judgement of a good night.

She offhandedly stared at her naked wrists, the armour there left behind as a sign of goodwill towards her supporters, yet no jewellery of any kind decorated her form. Softly she thought back to the day years prior, when her deerlings had given her a bracelet, and how it still stayed in her room, because that was much safer than any battlefield.

Byleth bit her lip the moment impure musings jolted her awake, a lightning fast thought that needed to perish instead of stun her. _“If I were to wear it, would he take notice of me, then?”_

Yet all it did was leave her standing in the gardens, where few souls huddled behind bushes for privacy and the cacophony of drunken joy reached only the tips of ears. Here, all that was clear were the whispers of beloved strangers, and those that dared to forget the night after the fact. Giggles and laughter and whatever else could slaughter a heart reigned here, and part of her was desperate to make out a particular sound in the atmosphere, her pulse running fast even when her legs rooted her to her spot.

She did not hear it.

There was no voice that chimed akin to bells and whistles, no throaty laughter that could put honey kissed treats to shame. Only the buzz of intoxication and fluttered hearts, and whatever else could sting come morning. Busy bees, the lot of them, and none smelled of pine needles.

So Byleth stilled her never beating heart, took a sip from the alluring toxin in her cup that invited her for a toast to herself, and she welcomed the taste once more, the bitterness much better than whatever sweet nothings could be whispered into her ear. Promises of greatness, husky murmurs of invitation, tickling breaths and lips to claim necks-

She needed none of it. Cursed whatever image of emerald green dared to bloom in the fleeting part of spring thoughts that tried to uproot the carefully compromised exterior she had build for herself. She needed not it, nor summer loves, only autumn winds and verdant winters.

So the wish to flee from the sins that screamed hollow whispers had her pick up her pace, until the courtyard beyond the run down classrooms became her sanctuary. Here, only the wind howled, not the moans of eager men. Here, only the stars twinkled, not the necklaces of bare breasted maidens. Here, only she waited, not the receding patience of young Dukes.

Byleth let herself fall down onto a bench, body heavy. The moon invited her for another drink, and so she raised the mug in her hand to it, as though to prepare it for a shared tale that would never be spoken aloud. Because drunken stupors ended with harrowed tales of old, and she knew many under her alias of the Ashen Demon, but the night was not looking for burned devils, only the fire that licked at people's backs to get them to fall for searing kisses.

And no matter the cold, she could bear it.

“You got room for one more troubled soul, friend?”

He arrived out of nowhere with nothing but a smile for an apology, this one bright, and white, and loud. It reached his eyes not even a little but clung to his skin with the effort of a young, recently broken shooting star.

Simply put, it looked askew.

Byleth felt herself shrugging, scooted over on the bench, and he sat down in the spot that radiated with her warmth. His voice was lilting in the way drunken men talked, and yet the way with which he looked at her was entirely focused, centred upon her lips rather than her eyes. “I appreciate it.”

“Mhm", she mumbled, gaze intent on focusing on nothing in particular. So her eyes roamed over his piercing stare, to his tousled and played with locks, to the ever present earring that seemed so much easier to focus on than the rest of him, reddened cheeks and brilliant expression. Her attention stayed there, on that golden piece of jewellery that tried to invite her in like a treasure hungry magpie, and her willpower had her draw her talon clad fingers into a fist.

“They stare at it”, she noted.

He laughed in the way people would just to fill a silence, except this night was roaring with life, just not where they sat. Perhaps it was a tad too loud, slightly too overly joyful, yet earnestly confused all the same. “At what?”

“Your earring.” Byleth pointed to her own unpierced ear in-between taking another gulp from her drink. Then she let the taste linger, before continuing, as it was easier than to uncurl the strained muscles of her hand. “They look at it because they cannot bear your intense gaze.”

Claude felt the need to scratch the back of his head in mock embarrassment, and it could have fooled her if not for the increasing intensity of his own attention given to her. “Can't they? What about you then, Teach? Am I too much for you?”

Instead of giving in to the part of her that wanted to cloud her mind and paint her cheeks red, she pressed on with her observations. Kept her eyes locked on his earring and her hand still, even though laying it on his skin and letting it travel to the lobe of his ear would be easier. “It has gotten worse ever since you switched to the golden one. That girl now, she was scared of your rejection. You didn't give it, however.”

He huffed, puffed out air and blew his hair strands upwards, yet they fell back down, untamed. His grin seemed equally animalistic. “Negotiations take a silver tongue. I can spare her five minutes of my attention for the chance to trick you into giving me the time of day. Or night, rather.”

“Negotiations?” She spat the word out, harsher than intended, more _emotional_ than necessary. Perhaps the alcohol was getting to her, too. “Seduction, more like.”

“Anything to test your...reaction”, he replied, voice slightly hazy, mixed with whatever desire could rest upon the tongue of intoxicated men. It was a foul way of accepting responsibility for toying with someone else’s feelings, but then he had learned how to construct sentences in such ways that they seemed humbling when they weren’t.

“Oh?” Byleth cocked her head to the side, watched how his own swivelled in return to keep up with her. “I was your test subject, then.”

“You were”, he agreed. “Jealousy suits you.”

At that, she promptly focused on his eyes, fully now. Stopped hiding behind the same humbling action that the girl had committed, her own gaze stuck between fury and fear, and yet unable to keep from looking into his brilliant green eyes. “Jealous? Me?”

A chuckle drew from his throat, and he let his own fingers skim over the skin on her hand, until they lay flat over her enclosed fist. Claude rubbed the tension out of her then, small circles that had no right to be so practiced and deliberate in their movement despite the way his mouth moved to form sloppily muttered words.

“Mhm. _Jealous_.”

His touches were fleeting, fluttering things. Just enough pressure to make her flesh crave more, to let the tiny hairs of her arms stand up and she huffed and blamed it on the cold, because that was easier than to accept that her hazy mind could betray her so gravely.

“You look fierce when you're angry. That must do something to a man, you recognise?”

He had gotten rid of the gloves, she noticed. Let his fingers travel upward evermore, over the exposed skin of her wrist, to her elbows, ever higher until he reached her shoulder. There he let his hand linger, but he drew his face ever nearer, until the warmth of his breath could fight off the freezing whisper of the wind.

“A shame that you wear no jewellery, _friend_. Whatever shall I busy my hands with, then?”


	2. Tassel

His gaze dropped, and with it Byleth's pride.   
Replaced by embarrassment, she watched how his attention dipped ever lower, from her lips to the neck hidden by white fabric, roaming over the edges of her collarbone until it landed on the ornamental piece of her tight fitted top, drinking in every detail with hunger.

She breathed in, chest rising and with it the pink brushed tassels adorning the gold, and out of the corner of her view she saw Claude wet his lips, the action perfectly void of any liquor. It was a curious sight, something to ponder over, but he did not dare give her the time to voice her thoughts. 

Instead, his lips drew into a curled smirk, a puzzle missing a piece, somewhat of a painting that just lacked the finishing touches. “Your breath is uneven, Teach.”

Byleth scoffed, attempted it, at least. Drew her eyebrows tight together, carved the anger into her features where the red took root to bloom across her cheeks. And yet she felt the heaving motion, the breathlessness in her throat, and how it coiled around her to attempt to silence spoken sounds. 

She pressed on, regardless. “...no.” 

Then, covering whatever childish antics seemed to pour forth, she drank her drink dry. It slid down her neck as a noose would, closing in and bottling up what stutter of blurry feelings had her pulse drum heavy in her ears. Byleth wanted to drown in that sound, for it at least hid away whatever skewed truth Claude could bring to light with nothing but his voice. 

It did not matter that she let her gaze linger on his lips when she answered, or that her free hand itched to cradle his ear and scratch the skin behind it, or that his earring still appeared like the easiest, safest place of his body to focus on, but that she refused to do so.

“You are drunk", she stated after having finished her beer, ears fine tuned to the chuckle that her statement drew out of him.

A breathy, hearty laugh that invited his fingers out to play, and so he let them dance feather light up her hip, staying there with swirling motions for a while, as though to rub all tension out of her clothed skin. The action etched shivers into her body, setting them free with nothing but a well constructed sigh. 

“You're too sober", he whispered. 

Then, that smug grin of his returned, casting moonlight onto his pearl white teeth, and the compliment that burst from his mouth was an honest, uninhibited declaration. “You're intoxicating. I'm almost disappointed I don't do the same to you...”

Her cheeks grew ever hotter, pulse a fast driven power, and she let her fingertips brush against his thigh, fragile enough to not be felt through the fabric except for the body heat that she radiated. Claude leaned forward, body aligned so that his hot breath could tickle her ear, his tousled locks just in reach to tickle the curve of her chin. “... _yet_.”

With just as much pressure as the touch of his hand he let his lips linger on the shell of her ear, the kiss soft and scared in the way destroying boundaries was a fearful endeavour. His breath trembled, off-key, as uneven as her own. 

The action was a pinprick of a flame, too young to be more than the material to kindle a fire. There was nothing to snuff out, yet, but the way his touch burned had to be a hint towards the potential of ignition.

Then he pulled away, charm alight on those same lips, tugging them upwards, lifting them into something airy and insecure. It made him more human, cast away the scheming leader to leave the outsider behind. 

“Sorry", he muttered. “It's too much, right...?” 

She mouthed a gasp after, foul tasting relief crashing over her sea of anticipation, and the way his hand dipped into the curl of her waist only to grab onto the fabric there made her want to shift away, but that hazy look in his eyes made her stay, her legs rubbing together in what she believed to be discomfort.   
Byleth stared down towards her legs, counted all the embroidered details of her thighs, because for the time being that was easier, and hid her blush slightly.

Nevertheless she attempted a nonchalant answer, the feeling deep inside a secret only spilled by the way her breath caught in her throat. 

“Saying yes would be easier, wouldn't you say?” 

He chuckled, though the humour fell flat. “Aww Teach, why must you spring a rhetorical question on me?” 

His hand drew back regardless, came to rest on the cloth of his pants instead, just near enough to touch her own fingers barely.

There was little comfort in the act, but the barest touch was genuine, and all of it just short of the will to become indecent. Still, Byleth kept her fingers locked in place, and raised her chin up once more, lips cracking into a smile as the tension crackled around them without a fire in sight. 

“Why won't you answer it?” Voice something between velvet and wonder, she let the question fade out with the force of a flutter, barely there, just loud enough to catch laughter.

He provided it tenfold, and it tripped over itself, so it turned into a low chuckle instead. Claude caught hold of her fingers with his own, the warmth a pleasant sensation that chased a shudder up her spine. Yet an answer was something his lips lacked. 

He stared with intent, the edges of his eyes crinkling with mirth, mouth full of mischief as he talked. “Tell you what, Teach, how about a game?” 

Byleth blinked, confusion soft on her face, mouth opened just slightly. “...a game?”

“ _You_ did not give _me_ an answer, earlier”, he chided, tone playful, if strained. There was a rumble to it, something just boiling underneath, and it tasted of restraint on his tongue. Much too early the grip on her fingers loosened, and Claude drew them back, only to look for another safe place to put them. He busied his hands with the pink tassel of her chest piece so as to not lead them elsewhere, in the end. “Let's see if you're as weak willed as those other women.”

He drew nearer then, just so. Let his leg rest against her thigh, hands travelling upwards to her shoulders despite himself, and the warmth that he provided had her body scream for comfort. But he was too close for such, brought her anxiety to life instead of curbing it, and she did not understand why that was the case. 

They had been close before, had huddled next to another during strategy meetings way past midnight, when only the moon and the stars dared to bear witness to their political lack of tact and high intellect. Fond memories of extracurricular activities bubbled up, the feel of his much younger stature trying to best her in battle, and failing after giving it his all. 

Byleth had not felt her organs constrict upon receiving a hit from his closed fist directly into her stomach during one of their sparring sessions, had not been given the blessing of blushed cheeks during unholy talks that could have had her head should the church ever find out. 

But now, with his emerald eyes bright and so near she could see her own reflection in them, was when her whole form tried to betray her, that demon inside of her perfectly ashen in its nature, because maybe she had burned out already without knowing it. 

So she levelled his gaze, concentrated on not letting her attention strafe towards the nurturing, narrow gold near his ear. “A staring contest, Claude? And here I thought you matured into a _man_.”

“Ahh Teach", he tutted, tongue flicking up to produce a click, voice breathy in ways it hadn't been before. Then he drew nearer still, until she could smell the faint hint of wine and pine needles radiating off of him, casting him in an image of grapevines and forests despite the dead of night.

The grin grew ever stronger, sharp and dangerous until it made him smirk in a feracious manner, eyes squinted as though to make out prey, hands near her shoulders but travelling downwards with a rapidly decreasing patience, his entire body pulled taut, ready to pounce. 

With a lazy drawl he enjoyed watching her face grow ever hotter. “I _am_ a man, Byleth.” 

But her voice was levelled and light when she replied, despite the bright red shimmer on her cheeks. “...is that so?” 

“Mhm”, he murmured, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the vibrations. “Five years can transform even the most foolish boy.” 

“I'd say you're still foolish.” 

In her mind she chided herself for it, yet soon enough her nails scraped against the waistband of his pants, a single finger digging in just far enough to touch raw skin. The breath that he had paraded around with pride stopped dead in its tracks, and instead of a sigh a hint of a gasp broke free, just quiet enough to play off with a smirk. 

“-aha, Teach, eager to cheat?” His tongue flicked upwards once more, providing a clicking sound to show his playful disappointment. “What a low thing to do for a former Professor!” 

“As if you ever play fair", came her reply, and the hand not preoccupied with pawing at fabric made to touch his own fingers, which were busy drumming rhythmic touches into the dip between her hip and waist. The circling motion halted, then, and the toothy grin was an earnest, if arrogant, gesture meant for only her eyes. 

“Sheesh, no need to _rub it in_ , wouldn't you agree?” And the movement started up again, this time pleasantly heavy in nature. There was no flutter to the way his fingers danced across her form, instead it could feel like a tugging of fabric if he were to ever fully grasp it in his fists. As it were he simply let his hand wander, far below until he could squeeze her thighs hidden by tights, and he did so. 

Throughout it all, his focus never shifted.  
What one could call an entrapment worked both ways, and Byleth swallowed, gaze level but tongue wetting her lips despite herself. Claude made to play with the pink tassel of her decorative décolleté piece with his free hand once more, tugging on single strands with little regard for the cloth, the action a boyish contrast to the carefully trained way which he used to trace over every detail of the sheer fabric covering her legs.

“What are the stakes here, friend?” 

The question was said just for the sake of it, and ringed hollow in the cool air, it felt like. Simultaneously, it seemed to address an entirely different issue, build on much more fragile building blocks than booze. This bet of theirs was spoken of with words only, while the intensity of his gaze, cloudy from more than just liquor, told an entirely different story.

If she could fall, she would not know of the height that she would tumble from, but it gave her stomach that fluttery feeling often meant for something as silly as butterflies, and she did not believe in the simplicity of an insect capable of bringing about storms. 

Still, there was a tornado stuck in the emerald pool of his eyes, and with every breath of her it gained strength. Byleth tried to anchor herself to whatever she could, so she let another finger hook into his waistband, her skin capable of feeling the shiver that went through him in turn. 

“Stakes...” She wondered aloud just to have something to say. “...if the winner gets a free question that the other must answer honestly, I think that'd be worth it.”

“Fishing for information, I see.” His breathing came more shallow, she noticed, his lungs contracting just strong enough to grant him enough air to continue talking, without his skin having to come in contact with hers more than necessary. “You're smart, Teach.” 

The compliment made a bubble of joy crawl its way to the top, genuine enough to produce a giggle as it popped, and Byleth let her hands snap back to hide the smile from creeping up even further on her lips. An almost-groan was his reply, and his fingers dug deeper into her flesh, though never hurtful. Then his body shifted just slightly, the motion antsy and anxious and everything but adequate. 

“I accept”, he breathed out, a deep, guttural sigh. It held an ounce of relief in it, though said relief was overshadowed by the darkness that had consumed his eyes. 

Claude seemed to search for a distraction, found it as the soft tassel brushed over the tip of his thumb. 

“Why don’t you wear any jewellery of your own, friend?” His voice was sandpaper on her skin, tickled and hurt and she did nothing but wince at it.

“A mercenary has little use for it.” She paused. “A ring, or necklace, or earring could get caught, or deemed valuable enough to make you a target, or get lost. It is…detrimental, for your work.”

“Ahhh", the teasing tone was back, and she wished it gone, replaced by the strain that had held his voice captive before. “So that's why you've kept your birthday present from your little Golden Deers locked away all this time.” 

The respite was nice, some part of her whispered. Looking at Claude was easier, now. The other half howled like a hungry animal and wanted nothing back but the careful dance of nothing and everything and all that lies in-between. So she spoke with a nonchalance that was nothing but a lie. 

“No – I kept it safe.” 

At that, genuine shock washed over him, a wave that crashed and turned him back into a clean canvas. Gone was the paint and pain and restrain, and instead of her thigh his hand was now holding on to her wrist. 

“...would you wear the bracelet for me?” 

It was a simple question, lacked any edge or sharp angle. His thumb was rubbing affection into her skin now, a lovely feeling, and the action was searching out her pulse. When he found it he visibly rejoiced, and upon noting her faint nod he openly beamed at her, eyes brighter than any jewel could shine. 

“No worries, though, you'd look great in anything, friend.” 

The warmth in his voice made her draw closer, until she felt he could absolutely not mistake her smile for anything but honest happiness. It toed the line of being more than would be appropriate in a wholly different way, spoke of a bond that was a red string rather than a trail of blood, though the thought of giving her life for his crossed her mind regardless. 

When he spoke next his voice was needy once more, and she wondered if it was the alcohol speaking or whatever he held back.

“Even nothing.” 

Her pulse quickened, fake heart thumping loudly in her chest, and she knew he could feel it. There it was again, that smugness, and she had no time to react to it other than with an open mouthed gasp. What steadied her was little more than the rhythmic comfort of the circles he brushed into her skin, but he held her attention in the grasp of his palm.

“We don't cross a line, here", he murmured. “We just talk.” 

Lower, then, he continued, breath uneven. 

“...right, friend? Tell me if it's... _more_ than that.” 

A second passed.

“Or _less_.”

Byleth lacked the power to control the strength of her voice when she replied. 

“...we talk. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

That seemed to rid him of what worry he had held before, and the hand preoccupied with toying with her tassel did so in earnest once more. Then a finger found the edge of her cleavage, and her own hold on him returned, handling the fabric of his pants and dress shirt in an almost endearing way, as though to commit the feel of both to memory.

“Did you kiss her?”, she blurted out.

And he chuckled, the sound much more joyless once more, anticipation dripping into the cracks of his facade. “I'd never do that.” 

His touched dropped lower, mapping out every detail of the only accessory she wore, but his nails scraped over the fabric hugging her breasts just barely, and hers found the spot between his shirt and waistband again, even though she did nothing that could be seen as more than idle curiosity. 

“This shirt is made from linen produced beyond the Fódlan border", he quipped. 

She hummed. “Jeralt once told me the tassel came from an old rug. I think he was lying.” 

Meeting his gaze still without looking away felt more dangerous and difficult with every hitched breath that escaped her, but speaking as though nothing was amiss alleviated the anxious urge to touch him slightly. 

She felt reminded of the way his hands had played with the shining necklace and its many details, how his fingers had glided over silver like a man who knew not to pickpocket. Now he rivalled a starved orphan who desperately wanted to steal. 

And that stole away all the words on her tongue. 

His hand cupped her breast in earnest the moment she let hers crawl up his torso to his chest, and denial was a kingdom built on crumbling lies, with both of them wearing crowns. She spoke no rules but a moan, and his throat gave no orders except for a groan.

Byleth looked away, then, eyes cast downwards to his lap, but the tension there was even larger than the tension in the air and so her attention returned to the safe haven of his earring, with its golden glamour. She noticed that she had, perhaps, never given it as much thought as she did now, but studying it was a fascinating endeavour, and so much more humble than hungrily drinking in the way his pupils dilated. 

She removed her hand at once, and he did the same. 

“You lost", he whispered, grin askew. 

She could hardly form a sentence, but tried anyhow, tongue-tied and breathless. “...I lost.” 

Claude let his palm rest on top of her knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze that should seem friendly, but only made her hyper aware of the warmth pooling at the centre of her body, and how it made her squirm on the bench. 

She still could not fully look at him.

“As for my price...” 

That grin returned, all smug and smart and searing. Byleth noted how he, too, seemed unable to sit still. And how each movement of his body had her re-adjust her focus on that dangling accessory of his, and how it did nothing to prepare her for his ever inquisitive way of approaching challenges, especially those he had won. 

“One question – _any_ question – right?”

He cocked his head to the side, his earring swinging with the motion, and those smooth locks of hair came down to fall into his face. They hid part of his expression, gave him a rough appearance even as the intensity of his gaze remained, and as the flurry of his fingers travelled up her thighs just short of drawing a moan from her once more, she could feel all of the honesty and hunger drip from his mouth.

“Say, friend...have you ever _fantasized_ about me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out this awesome Claude x Byleth fanart my friend Tish drew! It was inspired by a part of this Chapter, and inspired a scene for me to write in turn! ♡
> 
> https://mobile.twitter.com/tishtish4/status/1207407752588345349


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